


O How He Loves You, Darling Boy

by itallstartedwithdefenestration



Series: crush [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-05-06 13:59:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5419676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itallstartedwithdefenestration/pseuds/itallstartedwithdefenestration
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Lucifer get their gala night. A divergence of the events of chapter 5 of The Repeated Image of the Lover Destroyed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	O How He Loves You, Darling Boy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [paperfeathers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperfeathers/gifts).



> If you haven't already read Repeated Image, this might not make sense. But you don't have to. For those who don't remember or don't know, Sam is 16, and Lucifer is 41. 
> 
> The beginning part, in italics, is from my original fic.

_“What if I had you on your back,” Lucifer interrupts, his voice even quieter. Mouth still on Sam’s ear, his hand cupping Sam’s face. “What if you were spread out under me, and I was fucking you?”_

_Sam goes totally, utterly still. His body freezing up like he’s under attack. Stepping out from Lucifer’s touch, not a lot, just enough so that they’re looking into each other’s eyes again, and Lucifer cannot tell what Sam is thinking. What he’s feeling._

_It’s quiet for a long, long time. Both of them just standing there staring at each other. Sam with one hand still on his neck, the other resting faint on the back of Lucifer’s. Until Lucifer starts to think he said something wrong, that Sam will be angry with him all evening, and he starts:_

_“You know, as per our contract, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to—”_

_“You really wanna fuck me?” Sam interrupts. He’s trembling, Lucifer can feel the soft vibrations through the tips of his fingers, but his eyes are banked back with barely held-in hope. A shining happiness that Lucifer isn’t used to, not even from Sam._

_Lucifer swallows. Reaches out and pushes Sam’s hair back behind his ear. “I want to, yes,” he says. “I have for a while now.”_

_Sam’s whole face lights up. He reaches out to Lucifer’s own face, tucks his fingers under his jaw. Their food forgotten beside them. The whole world forgotten under their feet. Civilizations could rise and fall and Lucifer would not notice._

_“Tonight,” Sam tells him. “We could tonight, if you—”_

_“Yes,” Lucifer says. Immediate response, letting Sam smile and kiss the fruit juice off his thumb. “I still have a few people to visit with here, but afterwards we can go home—”_

_Sam’s nodding, frantic, like he’s afraid Lucifer will change his mind. “I’d love that,” he says, soft. His whole face flushed but his eyes are bright, his mouth curved at the corners. So that Lucifer can hardly help running his thumb over the crescent of it, Sam’s pretty thin rose-colored lips. Wondering what they’ll feel like on Lucifer’s own mouth, instead of wrapped around his cock._

_Wondering if this time will be different than the thousands of other times Lucifer’s fucked before, just because of who he’ll be with. What Sam means, to him._

_“Well,” Lucifer says, drawing his hands reluctant and slow to his sides, because he knows if he doesn’t stop touching Sam now, he never will. Takes a swig of champagne from a free-standing full glass beside his hand, and glances around the room. Hyperaware of Sam directly beside him the entire time, wearing that suit Lucifer just wants to tear off his body, watch those buttons pop and roll across the floor while Lucifer crooks his fingers in Sam’s tight heat and spreads. “Let’s go finish up our rounds, Sam.”_

~

At some point during the function Lucifer gets dragged into a conversation with an American and a duchess, her French accent grating on his ears, whiny and nasal. He can feel Sam pressing against him from behind, impatient, his fingers digging into the small of Lucifer’s back, and the American abruptly turns from her duchess friend to smile, predatory, at Sam. 

“Who’s your lovely friend, Lucian?” she asks, and reaches up as if she wants to touch him—touch _Sam, his_ Sam, _his_ property—

Lucifer takes half a step back, feeling Sam move with him. Watches the American’s arm drop, the bangles and pearls around her wrist and neck clanking. A faint frown crossing the space between her eyebrows. 

“Lucian—”

“Sam and I have to leave,” Lucifer says, glancing down at his wrist as if he’s wearing a watch there. “We’re sorry to be departing from your pleasurable company so early, but there’s urgent business back at my brothel. The children can get so unruly if you leave them for a few hours,” and when he inclines his head, smiling, the American and her duchess friend laugh, indulgent. Probably not noticing the faint bristling of Sam, tense, along Lucifer’s spine. 

He reaches behind him, twines his fingers with Sam’s. “It was lovely to meet both of you,” he says, cordial, and he and Sam weave their way out of the gala. Out to the front lawn, where Thaddeus is waiting in the carriage, window rolled down, cigarette smoke trailing into the night. He leans out as Lucifer and Sam approach, calls:

“Ready to go, sir?” and Lucifer gives him a quick, sharp nod. Thaddeus drops the cigarette, letting it smolder out on the ground as he starts the engine, and Lucifer holds the back door open for Sam, who crawls in, laughing:

“Such a gentleman. Should I expect this for the rest of the evening?”

Lucifer gets in behind him, shuts the door and plays his thumb over the ridges of Sam’s knuckles. “I’m only going to be a gentleman to you until we’re alone,” he whispers, pressing the words into the soft crush of Sam’s hair, and satisfactorily he feels Sam flush, the grin on his face curling down into something softer, more private. A little embarrassed, as he turns, bumps his nose against Lucifer’s cheek. His mouth so close to Lucifer’s that he can smell the wine and cherries on his breath, reminded quite suddenly that they might kiss tonight. That there’s a very real possibility of their mouths meeting and god when did Lucifer turn into a fucking teenager again? He’s forty-one, for Christ’s sake. It’s Sam who should be acting like this, thinking giddy. Lucifer’s got to have composure. Sam makes him so damn undignified he could scream. 

The stars and clouds whip by outside the carriage in a fast rush as Thaddeus speeds towards home. Sam’s sitting pressed nearly all along Lucifer’s side, not really looking at him but clearly very aware of his presence. They haven’t stopped holding hands since they were inside the gala and Sam’s rubbing absent patterns against Lucifer’s palm, his own fingers trembling a little. 

When they pass under a gas lamp, Lucifer can see he’s flushed all over. Can’t tell if it’s from nerves or excitement, or a combination of both, but that’s a conversation to be had, like everything else Lucifer wants to say, once they’re inside. 

They get to the brothel and Lucifer nearly drags Sam upstairs, ignoring Lilith’s mocking, “Have a good time, then?” from her sprawled-out position on one of the chairs in the lobby. He inserts the key into the lock of his suite, gets them both inside, and shuts and locks the door again. So that they’re finally alone, Sam and Lucifer, standing on plush carpet and smiling at each other, idiotically. Sam blushing and Lucifer can feel himself starting to and. Christ. What happened to the gala, where he was making Sam weak at the knees, promising dark sexual things in his ear? 

Sam walks forward, hesitant. His hands shaking as he puts them on Lucifer’s shoulders, but his eyes are steady on Lucifer’s, his voice nearly steady when he says, “I want this, Luce. I. I promise. I want this so bad I can hardly stand it—” and his voice trembles right there, right on that last syllable, his mouth so lovely and pink and it’s all too easy to take charge, the way he has his whole life. To reach up and cup Sam’s jaw in his hand, draw him in. To kiss him, for the first time in his life, and Sam is shaking and inexperienced and pressing himself in too hard, biting at Lucifer’s mouth too much but it’s the best kiss Lucifer’s ever had, he can’t even explain why but it is, and that probably means something Lucifer cannot and will not get into right now because there are far more urgent things to think of. Like getting Sam spread out on his bed, getting his fingers inside him and.

Oh _Jesus._

He curves his fingers against Sam’s jaw, spreading them out over his cheek. Forcing Sam to slow down, guiding the kiss into something more gentle, less frantic and harried. He sucks Sam’s bottom lip carefully into his mouth and is briefly stunned by the noise it draws up from Sam’s throat. Choked and startled and _aching,_ as though this is something Sam’s dreamed of. The way Lucifer has now for weeks, longing to feel Sam under him, longing to have him like this—

Sam’s hands move, shaking, from Lucifer’s shoulders to his waist. He has incredible fingers, long and warm, and Lucifer’s thoughts drift for a moment to Azazel. Thinking of what he’d do with this, if he’d gotten to it first. Wouldn’t appreciate every little thing about Sam, the taste of his mouth or the tentative little noises he makes, the splay of his hands, the way he rocks against Lucifer, the feel of his skin under Lucifer’s hands—

“Hey,” Sam is saying against Lucifer’s lips, and Lucifer drags himself away from his thoughts, finds Sam watching him, faint amusement curling his mouth at the corners. “Where are you right now?”

Lucifer shakes his head. Thinks, _I saved you,_ and he thinks, _You’re never going to belong to anyone else except yourself, and me. If you’ll have me,_ and he thinks, desperate and half-formed, _Oh Sam I—_

Out loud: “I’m here,” and, “Are we going to take this into my room? Or would you prefer to just stand here, see if I could get you on your back this way?”

Sam snorts. “Yeah, as if you could fuck me on the floor,” he says, “old man that you are,” and it’s a challenge, of sorts, but Sam’s still trembling. Faint hesitance in the backs of his eyes, not quite afraid but definitely cautious, and Lucifer wants Sam’s first time to be. Perfect. As perfect as it can be in a brothel, so he shakes his head:

“Some other time,” he says, and catches one more kiss on Sam’s mouth before leading him into his bedroom. Letting the door swing shut behind him as he slides out of his overcoat, starts to unbutton his vest. 

Those same long, warm fingers stop him mid-movement. Carefully knocking his hands out of the way as Sam reaches out to unbutton the vest himself, and then the shirt underneath. He slides the clothes off Lucifer’s shoulders, exposing his skin to the cool air, and Lucifer watches him watching him, their eyes colliding like twin suns in a galaxy, fated to spin and spin until they crash into each other, crash and burn and explode in a brilliant force glow of supernovae. Sam’s eyes are burning with heat, his mouth a little open as his hands move to Lucifer’s trousers. Working shaking at the snap and zipper and it doesn’t seem to occur to him, even once, that he should look down so he can see what he’s doing. 

Eventually, taking pity on him, Lucifer steps out of his trousers himself. Tucking his fingers under Sam’s jaw so he can draw him back up to his feet, kissing him softly, stroking his hair out of his face. 

“Now you,” he says, standing there in nothing but his shorts, and Sam laughs rueful against Lucifer’s mouth. He’s blushing again when Lucifer pulls back, reaches for his buttons. Blushing and trembling and he grips Lucifer’s wrists when Lucifer hesitates, trying to pull him in. 

“Sam, do you not—”

“No, I want this.” Sam’s thumb fits neat and perfect over Lucifer’s radial artery. “Like I’ve told you all evening, I want this. I just. I’ve been naked with you before, you’ve blown me, you. We’ve done a lot together, but this. This is so. This is just...” He trails off, casting his eyes to the floor. Mouth twitching like he wants to keep speaking but can’t figure out how and Lucifer nods, slow. Bumping their foreheads together, he says:

“I understand, Sam,” and Sam looks up fast, his eyes relieved and wary at once.

“Yeah?”

Lucifer nods. Trails his finger down the line of Sam’s throat. 

“It means—it means a lot to me too, Sam,” he whispers. A quiet admission, and the minute he says it he hates himself, vulnerability and weakness never having been his strong points, never liking his emotions to show, but with Sam, somehow, it’s okay. Even more so when Sam kisses him a third time, slow smile spreading across his face as he starts to unbutton his vest. His skin revealed slow and dazzling, tantalizing stretches of gold in the half-light cast over the room by the gas lamp. He shrugs off his jacket and vest and shirt, tugs off his trousers. He’s wearing silk panties, cock hanging half-hard out of the lace, and Lucifer shudders, physically, staring. Sam was right, this is different. In a way he can’t even explain.

“Gonna just stand there all night, old man?” Sam asks, teasing, and Lucifer drags his eyes back up to Sam’s. Lets his smile curve into something more predatory and dark, and he pushes Sam back against the mattress. Watches Sam’s face flicker through a series of emotions, his pupils overblown with lust, before that same smile begins to echo back on his own lips. Scooting up on his elbows and cautiously spreading his legs, watching Lucifer crawl between them. 

The rest of the night comes and goes in a series of snapshots, Lucifer so overwhelmed he finds himself experiencing the sensation of Sam in bursts, as if they’re being photographed. He finds himself kissing Sam, his hand on his jaw again. Tasting him and licking into his mouth, feeling Sam’s heartbeat rapid quick under his thumb. Biting his way down Sam’s sternum, nosing through the trail of hair leading to his crotch. Teeth sinking into soft silk and he tugs the underwear off Sam’s thighs, sucks kisses into his skin on the way back up. Mouths over his cock, taking it briefly into his mouth just to hear Sam’s breath hiss out, to feel his fingers scrabble instinctive and tight in Lucifer’s hair. 

Pressing Sam into the mattress all the way, his spine flat against the bed as Lucifer kneels between his legs, bending one knee up with his palm. Then back between his legs, mouth at his hole. 

“This is going to feel like nothing you’ve ever experienced,” he whispers, his voice hoarse and ragged and _used,_ and he licks into Sam, opening him with his tongue and his fingers at the same time. Sam’s gasping and shaking and twisting, nearly crying:

“Oh, _Christ,_ Luce, oh my god, that—oh my fucking _god_ —” 

Then Lucifer’s got his mouth on Sam’s again, Sam’s hole opening up for his fingers as he spreads him with lube, moving slow, pumping in and out, Sam whimpering into his mouth—

Sliding his palm over his own cock, already so on edge—

Lining himself up, pressing his hand on Sam’s knee, bending his leg up for better access. Pressing and maneuvering and then Lucifer’s inside Sam. Sucked deep and immediate into his tight unused heat, everything wet and burning and too much too _much—_

Buried in him to the hilt. Staring down at Sam, bent and folded under him. Sam’s fingers on his waist again, and he’s shaking, tense. So tight it’s making Lucifer need to come that much faster, and he reaches down. Strokes Sam’s hair back from his face. 

“Relax, sweetheart,” he whispers. “Okay? I need you to relax.”

Sam nods. His breathing evening out by degrees, body opening up, staring at Lucifer in awe and he says:

“It doesn’t hurt,” and he says, “Could you move, maybe?” his body knowing instinctively what it wants, and Lucifer buries his face in Sam’s collarbone, obliges—

He’s thrusting, jacking Sam off in rough counterpoint to the sharp pistoning of his hips. Sam’s gasping, erratic short bursts of air, clutching at Lucifer. Clawing at him, really, leaving scrape marks down his back that sting and burn deliciously. Biting his neck and his jaw and his mouth and kissing him, savage and fierce, whenever Lucifer can manage to focus long enough to remember that’s a thing, now—

Sam’s hips are stuttering up, he’s crying, he’s grasping at Lucifer’s hair, at his waist. “Oh, fuck, oh _fuck_ Luce I’m gonna—I think I—” and he’s coming between them, so hard his spine tries to bend double. Screaming, the pulse in his neck going so hard Lucifer can see it jumping, keening and moaning and Lucifer swallows the noises greedily, gripping Sam’s hip, thrusting faster. The broken sound of his voice and the feel of his come splattering wet and hot on Lucifer’s own stomach propels his body into action and Sam’s barely started to come down when Lucifer’s orgasm hits him, sudden and without warning. Coiling its way down his spine and exploding at the base, pressure built up like lava in his hips and shooting out, curling his toes, arching his back. He spills into Sam, forceful and violent, and Sam’s face goes newly shocked at the sensation. His spent cock twitching valiantly and oh, _god—_

Lucifer swears he feels Sam come again, a weak little final stream into his palm that has Lucifer shuddering, the final throes of his orgasm pushing his hips into Sam’s until his body feels weak with the desire it’s just wrung itself through.

When he can focus again, he’s lying beside Sam. Pulled out and breathing hard, his body shaking from overexertion. Stroking Sam’s hair absently and he’s aware they’re both sweaty. That they need to take a shower, or at least to clean off with a washrag, but he can’t bring himself to get up just yet. Content to lie here and feel Sam’s heartbeat under his palm, on his chest. 

He says, soft, “Sam,” and Sam is quiet for a long minute. Long enough that Lucifer thinks he’s fallen asleep, but then he turns. Opens his eyes. Smiles. 

“Yeah, Luce,” he whispers, as rough as Lucifer was a moment ago, and Lucifer noses against his temple. 

“Did it,” Lucifer starts, and then stops, hesitant. “Was it okay?” he asks, and Sam laughs. Bright, happy sound, rolling over all the way so he can cup Lucifer’s face in his own hands. Bring them together for a kiss, the sensation still fresh and new to both of them. Lucifer hopes that lasts a long, long time, for them. 

“For such an old man, it was okay,” Sam says, and he’s still laughing when Lucifer shoves at his shoulder. Rolling him back again, just so he can press Sam into the mattress and kiss him. Lick gently over the bruises he left, stroke his jaw with his thumb. 

“I’m only asking because it was your first time—” Lucifer starts, and Sam nods. His face growing serious, contemplative, as he reaches up. Touches Lucifer’s cheek. 

“It was perfect,” he whispers, at length, and brings Lucifer back down so he can press his face, warm and exhausted and lovely, into Lucifer’s neck. Where he will stay, sleeping, smiling, until the morning, wrapped in Lucifer’s arms.


End file.
